Saturday, January 21, 2012

It's been a rather interesting year for her, I think. Not a year, per se. Not yet anyway. Interesting twenty odd days perhaps? More intense than interesting, really. I remember talking to her on the first day of the year. Nothing extraordinary; just a little good humoured 'girl talk' (whatever that means!). She was telling me how she is almost proud at having spent the new year's eve by her self. I understand her pride. But that's mainly because I understand how she thinks the 'being by herself' bit she couldn't have done earlier. Even when she had wanted to. And the Universe knows she's wanted to.

All the time.

She tells me these things, you know?

Who else will she tell?

Oh no! It's not like she doesn't have her people, you know? She has one too many, to say the least. I don't know how she does it, really. "I make it look too bloody easy!", she laughs as she tells me that on several occasions. And then every once in a while, when in her ever so famous drunken stupors, she tells me how she 'needs' these people. All of them. But I know it's not because she's weak. Or because she can't be on her own. No sir! She's lived enough to know better.
Personally, I think it's for validation. Of her existence. Of her being.

And it's not like she hasn't been loved by them like no other.

But of late, she's been strange. I've seen it too. She's not the same person.

I can almost hear her ringing voice in my ear, if and when I tell her that; "Me? Not the same person? Oh! What a tragedy that would be! Cause I'm pretty damn cool, man". And then she'd laugh. Laugh like it doesn't matter. Like, she can't believe how stupid I could've been to have thought of something like that in the first place, even if it were for a fleeting second.
She'd laugh like you'd believe her.

Most do.
I did.

But as soon as I've written the above down, I feel slightly dubious of my smugness. My smugness about knowing her this well, perhaps? Because given the changes, maybe she won't laugh after all. I don't think she does anymore. Not that much, anyway. She's more analytical than lyrical now, I think.

It pisses people off that she's not a people's person anymore.

She told me it pisses her off more.

Of course, she blames the men, among other things. Each one of them.

The females are too fucking sweet. All of them.

All, but one.

And they're all so loved. So So Loved.

Even the one.

That one afternoon of the 11th of January... she was unrecognizable. Perhaps even to herself. She was seeking closure, she kept telling me. I believed her. I usually do. She's a nice girl, you know? A very nice girl. She's always wanted to be. So that afternoon, she came back stinking of Classic Regulars intertwined with Glenfiddich, runny nose and puffy eyes, an apparent closure, and of course, two pairs of shoes. Life and it's ways. She claims to have lost her horny mojo after that day. She also claims, however secretly, that that was her very intention in the first place. Her face buried in his hair- the smell, the closeness- she wants it to stay; her words, not mine!

I could sit and listen to her talk all day. You know? Because she's a nice girl. Only, I don't have the time. Or energy. Who does?Who can?But the one time I tried, she told me herself that it wont help, my 'being there'. For the simple reason that she doesn't know where to start. And she most definitely has no idea in hell where and when something ends. I just wish sometimes that she felt this existential when existentialism was in fashion. How has she heroically survived that awkward phase in life when everyone around her was falling prey to it? I think she was too busy being the rock then. That, or a bully. A popular bully.School will always be her special place I know. She never told me that herself. I just always knew.

The popular bullies were the 'sluts' back in the day. And now, of course. She doesn't like 'slut'. No. Not the 'she' the post is about. Another 'she'. A 'she' my 'she' obsesses over. With all her heart. She finds 'whore' less offensive. Even 'prostitute'. Hence, so does she.If only she'd come back to her, she thinks. Sigh.

I don't know what's up with her. Very few people do at this point. In retrospect, very few people ever did. I see how that can be intimidating for some. She doesn't like it. She doesn't want to intimidate people. I often wonder why not, though? It must be fun. "No, it's strange!", she says.I don't believe her.She likes to call it "old-age" that's causing her so much turmoil of the emotional kind. I tell her to quit flattering herself and let her call it "quarter-life crisis" for kicks. I hope beyond all hope, for her sake and mine, that she gets over it. Soon. TIme and tide wait for none, apparently. Neither do people. And she 'needs' people, apparently.It's sad.

I think she should just aim for the stars, even if it is just to occupy herself.